A codescribbler's life was mudane and repetitive. The job title itself told you everything you needed to know about the type of work one would do. A low standard of living was guaranteed and life was constricted. Every worker knew how to code, after all, even the more important people like company scouts knew how to code.

Sleeping was the most interesting part of a low-rung-nobody-codescribbler. The gracious CEOs had allowed you to have dreams, dreams where you could do anything- provided you ignored the product placement. It was a shame that sleep did not last for longer.

The incessant slamming of keys in the pod finally came to an end. The monitor was now filled with a new screen that read, "Employee Christian Wells, you have completed your work for today. Please choose another employee's code to review until closing time. Thank you for doing your part."

Christian stared at the screen, a little peeved. His name meant nothing to him and he failed to see why it mattered. A much more fitting name for him would be, 'The one who lives in Pod A142ZX', considering 'Christian Wells' was only ever used on official documents. Forget family or heritage too, he was raised like every other employee of the company at the Growth House; no semblance of tradition or basic knowledge of his ancestors.

Click.

A shrug was given. He was not paid in such generous amounts of overly processed food to ponder about the past. No, he was doing his part to elevate humanity. Progress meant more than tradition.

Project after project, Christian corrected his coworkers code diligently until closing time, yawning. Another exciting five hours of sleep, jam-packed with whatever story his subconscious mind could create. Most likely, fantasies of being a company scout exploring the cosmos and new planets would occupy his mind until the overbearing buzzer woke him up for the next day.

This time, however, he did not dream about the usual. He dreamt about chaos and violence and partially about things he had no words to describe. The violent dream had shadowy silhouettes fighting with similarly shadowy weapons upon a grey backdrop. The shadows reassured him that it was not sleep paralysis, as they frequently threw bolts of colorful flaming ammunition at each other. When his dreams had shifted into a peaceful kind, tall rectangles with windows shot up into the sky, pathways encircling them. People walking, talking, laughing, not a care in the world. An alien way of life, though more relaxing than seeing whatever battle of demons he had witnessed before.

Christian walked up to them curiously, trying to find out their occupation within the company and what they were doing in such a foreign environment. Nobody replied, in fact, they ignored him. Dazed, he tried to put his hand on a passerby's shoulder, finding that his hand moved right through and he nearly fell. Not in his 23 years of living had he ever had a sequence of dreams as strange as this, they usually all followed the same cheaply entertaining thrill of the last.

For a brief second he had a glimpse of a flag waving, then he was forced awake. He gasped upon consciousness, a screeching noise invading his ears. His wall-mounted clock displayed text printed in a bold green that read, '4:37AM'. It would be too late to go back to sleep now as work started at 5:10.

The television flashed back and forth with images displaying the military's prowess. Christian was fairly certain that because he failed a physical test as a teenager he wasn't selected to become a soldier. Not that he thought he'd be suited for soldier work anyway, that consisted of liberating new planets for the company and fighting off various beasts.

As if he was hypnotized, he stared at the television until the loud buzzer screamed again.